play the music low and swing to the rhythm of love
by Cela Fille
Summary: -"he's all chiseled features, onyx hair and jewel-toned eyes the color of emeralds and cerulean diamonds that flash with liquid starshine and it's just so beautiful, she can't even stand to look" : valentine's day drabble for child of the masquerade


For **Mersaydez**, otherwise known as Child of the Masquerade for the Valentine's Day Fic Exchange.

Prompts; diamonds, canary yellow, Snickers. _Got it_.

Pairing; Cam/Massie... _I'm sorry. I tried my best?_

**Happy Valentine's Day!**

* * *

**play the music low and swing to the rhythm of love **

_When the moon is low, _

_We can dance in slow motion_

_- _rhythm of love, plain white t's

* * *

Sometimes Massie will just look at him.

::

::

::

The first thing he says is, "You read Coelho?"

She looks up from the slightly yellowed copy of _The Alchemist _and frowns. There was something warm and idyllic about Hopkins - a little, unknown coffee shop tucked into the corner of Harvard Square, where she spent countless autumn afternoons curled up with a novel and a Java Chip espresso. Sunlight streams through the organza curtains covering the stained glass windows and she lets out a long, slow breath before answering the one who dared interrupt the silence.

"Yes," Her eyes narrow. "Why?"

He shrugs.

"No reason. Just didn't peg you for the type."

::

::

::

The next time she sees him, it's when she's running late to a sociology class through the busy streets of Cambridge and he smiles.

( He's all chiseled features, onyx hair and jewel-toned eyes the color of emeralds and cerulean diamonds that flash with liquid starshine and it's just so beautiful, she can't even stand to look )

She rushes by and doesn't smile back.

::

::

::

"Would you like to get some coffee with me sometime?"

"No."

"Great. I'll pick you up at 7."

::

::

::

He crosses her mind at the most arbitary of times, like when she's studying for French or when the ash-grey rain outside hits the pavement or when she's listening to Jack Johnson's _Sleep Through the Static _album and the chords swirl around her like a tornado- tightening and tightening and tightening.

His name is Cameron (_"But you can call me Cam"_). He likes the Arctic Monkeys, Snickers and his English beagle, Ringo (_"The greatest drummer and the most under appreciated Beatle of all time," _he liked to say, swirling the warm mocha half-and-half with his wooden stirrer). He's a photography major at BU and he plays the guitar and he's ambidextrous. He's heterochromic, shares a flat with his best friend Derrick and once followed a Supergrass tour across Europe.

So far all he knows about her is that she goes to Harvard and she likes Paulo Coelho and... well, that's it. But that's okay because she likes the idea of being a bit of an enigma.

::

::

::

The first time they kiss, it's fleeting, like a whisper, and he tastes like licorice, strawberries and just a hint of magic- his lips moving like an artist, bursting with the fervent emotion of his vibrant soul. He cups her face with his hands and leans in again, and suddenly she's flying- cutting loose from reality like a candy-coloured balloon into the cloudless, noon-bright sky.

"You kiss by the book," he breathes and she arches an eyebrow because did he just quote Shakespeare? He gently untangles himself from her grip. "You know, your eyes are pretty," he continues, tracing lazy circles on her bare arm and tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. "They're like a warm sort of russet with a dash of gold. Amber. Yeah."

She'll never admit it, but it's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to her.

::

::

::

The sunlit hours grow shorter and she can see from the window of his apartment that it's snowing.

"Look- snow," she whispers, twisting into the stark white sheets and smiling. There hasn't been a time where's she felt this happy ( happy like a small flame at her core, spreading warmth from her toes to the tips of her fingers ) and it's all because of _Cam- _Cam, who whispers hope, love and magic into her skin and takes her to the cusp of a star-studded world of ecstasy.

He stares at the clear, cold Boston air and doesn't respond.

( It's because the seasons bring change but she's too blinded by the vibrant, earth-toned promise of autumn to see that )

::

::

::

It's a bittersweet chapter in her story that ends all too soon with lifeless eyes, slammed doors and jumbled words like 'someone else', 'I'm sorry', 'can't do this anymore'.

Winter passes in a long, monochrome daze of classes and grey snow and she drowns herself in work, coffee and insomniac nights in an attempt to survive it.

::

::

::

Spring awakens something in her like a sleeping giant- something that makes her go into the deepest recesses of her closet and pull out that vibrant, canary-yellow sundress that flows down her lanky frame like water.

Boston is lovely in the spring time and she has the sudden urge to explore it, grabbing her keys and phone and stuffing them in an old backpack before whisking out the door.

She takes her time walking down the cobblestone pathways around the city and remembers the long autumn afternoons that she and Cam would spend wandering around the harbor, through Harvard Square and even in the Flea Market, people-watching and playing metaphysical Eye-Spy.

Finally she finds herself at the Hatch Shell, sitting beneath their tree and watching parents lead their toddlers to the side of the Charles River to feed the ducks. Sunshine throws glittering rays across the water and the slightest breeze ruffles the haphazard ponytail she had thrown her hair into before leaving her apartment.

She idly wonders what Cam's doing at the moment, but for the first time, the thought of his dual-colored eyes and winsome smile don't fill her with regret and pain but a hint of nostalgia like a faint memory.

Because she's Massie Block and she's in the most beautiful city in the world and spring brings the promise of sunshine and new beginnings.

::

::

::

"If you like Coelho, you should try reading Gabriel Marquez,"

She looks up, clutching _By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept _in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, to see an unknown, sandy-haired boy smiling down at her.

"They're both fantastic," He looks unfazed by her rather unwelcome silence and sits down at the table with her. "Their writing styles both have those philosophical undertones that make them so compelling."

"Who are you?" she asks- one part annoyance and the other part intrigue.

"Chris Plovert. I've um, seen you around here a lot. Reading. By yourself," he grins, a bit embarrassed, and she can't help but smile back. They lapse into a comfortable silence and he looks down at the table, tracing patterns absently onto the maple wood before glancing up at her shyly. "If you wanna talk about the authors more, we could um, go out for coffee sometime maybe?"

It's an all too familiar plot but for once she decides to screw it and live a little.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

So this started off as 3000 word saga and I had to cut it down, so I know that the transition from Cam/Massie fluff to breakup seems super rushed. Sorry about that. And sorry that they broke-up in general. I really don't like CaMassie too much so this was a struggle to write. Hope you liked it anyway, Mersaydez :)

As for the rest of you- review, por favor?


End file.
